by Jay Allan
“Cease fire.”
The autocannons stopped, the cacophony of their fire giving way to an eerie silence. Brendel looked out at the mob. There was no shouting, no movement, nothing. Then it started. One scream, angry, loud. Then another. Almost as one, the thousands gathered there roared, their rage and hatred creating a nearly deafening sound.
Brendel watched, her face cold, impassive. Inside she felt a smile wanting to form, and she knew, an instant before it happened, that she had provoked the response she’d hoped for.
She looked out as the mob surged forward, the people throwing themselves at the fence, screaming for blood.
She just stood where she was, and slowly—sickly—the smile emerged on her lips.
Chapter 17
Federal Complex
Landfall City
Federal Colony Alpha-2, Epsilon Eridani II (Haven)
Otto Coblenz stood on the roof looking out over the scene below. He’d heard Major Brendel’s words, and he’d seen how the executions had affected the mob. He’d dreaded this, since the moment he’d gotten the orders. He’d even appealed to Lieutenant Barrington for another assignment. But his scouts were elite troops, and that’s what Brendel had demanded. The best. He’d gotten the impression the lieutenant had sympathized, but Barrington had also rejected his pleas and confirmed the orders. Coblenz had almost argued further, a very uncharacteristic display of defiance to orders, but he’d stopped himself. Barely. He knew Barrington couldn’t do anything.
Now, on the rooftop, looking down over the nightmare unfolding below, Coblenz was as close as he’d ever come to disobeying orders. He was a veteran, one who had killed before, more than once. But his victims then had been enemy soldiers, and they’d been armed and trying to kill him. Now his people were expected to kill civilians. They were in rebellion, and threatening to attack the Federal Complex, that was true. But they were shopkeepers and factory workers. And children. Coblenz knew the autocannons would not discriminate by age or guilt. When his people opened up, people would die. Adults, children. Hard-core rebels, and those in the crowd out of benign curiosity. Dozens would be killed when his autocannons roared to life. More likely hundreds.
He watched the crowd push forward, and he heard the sound of the portable comm unit buzzing. He ignored it, for just a second or two. He knew what the orders would be, and he didn’t yet know if he’d accept them. He wanted to disobey, to do nothing. That would be the end of his career, of course, and even the end of his life if the enraged mob truly managed to take control of the Federal Complex. But he still wasn’t sure. Death seemed preferable, in some ways, to moving forward with a burden he wasn’t sure he could bear.
In the end, it was his troopers that swayed his mind. He could choose disobedience, disgrace—even death—for himself, but not for his men and women. Some of them had served with him for years. He couldn’t throw their lives away, whatever nightmare he had to endure.
He heard the comm unit buzz again, and his stomach tightened. But then the unit was in his hand, against his face. “Coblenz here,” he said softly.
“Open fire, Sergeant. All emplacements.” There was grim resignation in the voice. It was clear that Lieutenant Barrington was as unhappy as Coblenz about what was happening. But he is still doing it . . .
A pause.
Just as I will . . .
“Sergeant!” Barrington’s tone was stressed, but Coblenz could hear the understanding in the officer’s voice.
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
His head snapped around as he heard the distinctive sound of heavy autocannons firing. It was the group posted on the other side of the pavilion. Sergeant Danner, he reminded himself. Danner was a good soldier, even a friend. And she is following her orders.
He watched as Danner’s autocannons ripped into the dense crowd. People screamed and fell, some torn almost in half by the massive projectiles. The emplaced weapons were designed to deploy massive fire against enemy forces, armored and in cover. Against the unprotected crowd in the open, their effect was almost too terrible to watch.
Panic began almost at once, and the mob seemed to split, perhaps a third still pushing forward while the rest began a terrified flight, devoid now of all control, running, shoving, trampling over those in their way.
He watched, feeling each second pass with agonizing slowness. He could hear Barrington’s voice on the comm, repeating his orders, the anger and volume increasing steadily.
There was no point to disobedience now. All he could achieve was to destroy his own life, and those of his people. He would already get a reprimand for being slow to follow orders, no doubt. But if his people didn’t open fire at all, the consequences would be far grimmer. For all of them.
He wretched, caught himself and swallowed the acidic bile that had worked its way up his throat. “Fire,” he said, his voice grim. “All guns, open fire.”
“A hundred dead? Two hundred?” Des Black was pacing, clearly shaken, and that was something Killian had never seen before, even in combat. “Because of us, sir. All because of us. We can’t let the people of Landfall help us anymore, Colonel. We just can’t. We—”
“Sit down, Des. Try to get ahold of yourself. I know it was terrible, but this is war.” Killian hated being so cold-sounding, but he could succumb to emotion later. Right now he had to decide what to do, and whatever course he took, there would be a price to pay.
Black sat, dropping hard into the rickety wooden chair. It seemed for an instant as if it would shatter from the impact, but it held. He took a deep breath and looked at Killian. His eyes were still wide, almost glazed over, and his hands were shaking. He didn’t say a word.
“I know you want to take up all the blame you can for what happened, Des, but stop that right now. First, everyone who assisted us wanted to help. They were volunteers, and they knew the risks.” Even if they may not have understood them. He looked into his officer’s eyes. Black was listening to him, but he knew his words weren’t quite sinking in. Causes were all well and good, but the fresh images of a street literally running with blood were more powerful. So he had to push a bit harder.
“And second, helping us is not what got those people killed, whatever you think. It was just the excuse. The reason is that Robert Semmes is insane. There is nothing he won’t do. The success of our operations pushed him to drastic measures, but be assured, he would have lined up any dozen people he could find against that wall, probably without any provocation. I’d wager no more than half of them actually aided us. The others were just unfortunates, the bodies Semmes needed for his display. And he would have found a way to make that demonstration of force even if we were a thousand kilometers from Landfall.”
Black hesitated, his expression displaying something between doubt and agreement. “That may be, sir, but it is also because of us, because we’re here. Maybe he would have done it anyway, but even so, it might have been less severe. Or taken him longer.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But does that matter? He did do it. And we did what we did. So what do we do now—tuck our tails and run away? What alternative is there? General Ward is counting on us to keep the enemy disordered, to prevent them from mounting a full-scale assault on the army as it pulls back and tries to form a defensive position in the north—it’s one of General Ward’s keys to victory.”
“That may be so, sir. But what if they shoot a hundred tomorrow? Or a thousand the next day?”
“With Semmes in charge, that’s entirely possible. But what if we leave and they do that anyway?”
“So, it’s a devil’s choice, sir? Because if General Semmes is as brutal as you say, can we really stay here, focus the nexus of the war on Landfall? Whatever he might do, surely it will be more intense if we continue our campaign. Too, it seems unlikely we will be able to stay under cover for long. What if he starts burning down whole sections of the city to flush us out?”
Truth was, it had already started, although not as bad as Black envisioned . . . But what
ever that meant, Killian had already lost over one hundred of his people. Perhaps two dozen of those had been killed or wounded during operations, but most had simply been discovered, their hiding places raided by roving bands of federal troops. That drain was only going to get worse.
Yet it didn’t matter. His people had done well, better even than he’d expected, but it still wasn’t enough. Not yet. If he ordered the withdrawal now, then all those deaths were for nothing. His people could try to harass the federals as they marched north, but the first twelve kilometers passed through open farmland, with nowhere to hide, and the federals had plenty of supplies to keep the war going. He could dispatch small forces to take cover on the local farms and launch raids, but most of his people would have to flee to the woods as quickly as possible, and try to reach the main army before the federals cut them to pieces.
No. We stay. We fight.
We make a madman madder, and see if we can help him lose his head.
His own head spun around at the sound of someone coming down the squeaking wood stairs. His hand tensed and dropped to the pistol at his waist, but an instant later Jacob North appeared around the corner. He was disheveled, his tunic torn and his boots and lower pants legs caked with red mud.
No, Killian realized with a sickening certainty. That’s not mud.
He knew what he had to do. It was bold, as crazy as his reputation, perhaps. But it was all he could think of.
Semmes was trying to drive a wedge between his troopers and the civilians. The federal commander was trying to clear the capital of insurgents without the protracted effort of a slow house-to-house antiguerilla campaign. It angered Killian that the psychopathic bastard would use such tactics, just to save a little time. Nevertheless, he couldn’t argue against the effectiveness, and his rage only increased as he began to realize Semmes’s strategy was going to work. He couldn’t sustain his force’s efforts without the support of the people. And even the staunchest supporters of the rebellion would falter when their homes were invaded, their children and loved ones threatened and killed by Semmes and his black-coated “peacekeepers.”
“We can’t stay in Landfall much longer. That much is clear.” He looked at his two subordinates in turn. “But we can’t just pull out, either.”
“So what do we do, Colonel?”
Killian was silent for a few seconds. Then: “We hit every target on our list, including the ones within the main security cordon.”
“That will take weeks, sir, if we can even penetrate the defenses. Can we last that long?”
Killian shook his head. “No, not weeks. Not even days. We hit everything simultaneously. Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” Black and North replied almost as one.
“Sir,” North said, “that’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible? None of our raids have required more than a day’s preparation and planning.”
“That was before they consolidated most of their key operations, sir. Also, those were individual hit-and-run missions. Now you’re talking about dozens of assaults, with most of those in the same general area. Against heavily defended targets.”
“The strength of the targets argues for my approach. We have conducted limited, fast ops up to now, small groups sneaking in quickly, quietly. That won’t work anymore, not with the defenses the federals have in place. But if we commit everything, all our forces, we can overwhelm the defenders, even at the most highly protected sites.”
“Yes, sir. Perhaps for a few moments . . . and then the federals will respond, and probably aggressively. They have vastly more strength in Landfall than we do, and they are much better equipped.”
“What is our alternative? Stay, try to hide as the people suffer and begin to resent us more and more? Or just leave? Let General Ward and the army down? And what chance do we have of getting to the cover of the woods if we just slip out? A massive attack, whatever the risks and cost, will create an uproar. It may even give us the diversion we need to evacuate, to get some of our people, at least, to safety.”
“But tomorrow? Maybe we should give ourselves a little time . . .”
“For what? For more civilians to be killed as Semmes tries to smoke us out? For the enemy to root out more of our own people? No, time is not our ally. Every day that passes only makes the federals stronger, and us weaker. There is no time to delay.” He reached over to the end of the makeshift desk and grabbed a battered tablet with a cracked but still functional screen. He ran his finger across, and it lit up, displaying a map of Landfall. “We need to plan everything. Right now.” He looked up at his two subordinates. “Then we have to send out runners, tonight under cover of dark. Everybody needs to be ready and in place by dusk tomorrow.”
Chapter 18
Standard Hotel
Washington Megalopolis
Federal America
Earth, Sol III
“I almost didn’t come. We can’t meet here again. It’s too dangerous. If anyone is watching us . . .”
“It has been more than a month since we met. Besides, if anyone is watching us, they’ll probably think we’re having an affair. Half the midlevel senate staffers have weekly assignations here. That’s why I chose this place.” Asha Stanton gazed at Wells across the dimly lit room.
“Us? An affair? Who would believe that? Our history is not exactly one of friendship, much less an intimate relationship. I still can’t understand why I keep meeting you.” Wells shook his head, and then he looked quickly back toward the door. He was nervous, as he’d been the past two times he’d met Stanton. He’d just about convinced himself she wasn’t trying to set him up, but he was still uncomfortable. And he was far from certain that neither of them was under surveillance, despite her assurances. “What do you want? I have to get back to the office.”
“It is time, Everett. Time to intervene in matters on Alpha-2.”
“It has been time since we first met, but I still have no idea what you mean by that. I’ve tried every avenue still open to me, and all I’ve managed to get were warnings not to pursue it. There is just no way—”
“Yes, there is.” Stanton looked over at Wells. “I have a new contact, and I believe he can assist us.”
“A contact?” Stanton was an intelligent woman, but he wasn’t at all sure she was thinking rationally about either Semmes. For all he knew, she’d been sharing her plans with an undercover government operative, and they’d both end up on the scaffold if she wasn’t as smart as she believed she was. “Who could possibly help us? No senator would dare move against Alistair Semmes, not on this. And no one else is powerful enough to accomplish anything.”
“No one in Washington.”
“What are you talking about? What do you have, some kind of military contact? What can an officer do without senatorial support?”
“It is not a military officer, Everett.”
“Then who?”
“He is a . . . government representative.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t someone in Washington—”
“He is not a representative of Federal America.”
Wells was confused for a few seconds. Then cold realization set in. “Are you insane?” He turned and looked around the room, suddenly positive that they were being watched. “I want no part of this. I disagree with the government’s policy on Alpha-2, and I detest Semmes, but I am no traitor.”
“Don’t be naïve, Everett. Senator Gravis’s sense of obligation has kept you out of the abyss, but I assure you he will not be able to stand up to the Semmes clan if the pacification of Alpha-2 is a success, if he even tries. More likely, he will disassociate himself from you altogether—or feed you to Semmes as a way to curry favor.”
“But listen to yourself. You’re saying treason is my only chance to survive. Well, I’ll say it again—I want no part of this.” Yet even as Wells’s words came out of his mouth, they didn’t sound as skeptical as he’d intended.
“Stop with the ‘treason,’ Everett. It�
�s simplistic and infantile. I do not propose that we sell military technology secrets, or that we aid the Hegemony in taking Alpha-2 for themselves. But stopping Robert Semmes is a necessity, and if the Hegemony can aid us, we must pursue it.”
“Who is this contact?”
“He is someone I was able to reach through my family’s business contacts in Beijing. He is the son of a member of the Central Committee. I am assured he has the ear of the premier.”
“Assured? That’s a little less concrete than I’d like. Have you even met with this person yet?”
“No. That is why I called you to meet today. He is here in Washington, along with a trade delegation. I wanted the two of us to meet with him before he . . .”
“You are insane. Absolutely crazy. Do you have any idea what would happen to us if we were caught conspiring with a Hegemony agent? Hell, even found talking to one? We’re both on thin enough ice as it is.”
“Nothing worse than what will happen if Semmes gets his way.”
Wells was appalled at her suggestion. He was ready to turn and walk out immediately, but something held his feet to the floor. Stanton had been his rival, adversary even, and her relentless efforts to save her political influence in the face of massive human suffering disgusted him. But he’d always known she was smart and capable, and right now, her words carried truth. Semmes would come after them both, and he would hurt them any way he could. Wells’s choice now went beyond high-minded ideals. The issue at hand was nothing less than survival.
“What exactly are you proposing?” He wasn’t convinced yet, but he was still there.
“You know as well as I do that the rebels cannot win, not without some kind of outside assistance. We know they received weapon shipments during your time there, and mine. The guns used against us were military-grade, both Union and Hegemony models. A few crates of such weapons could have been acquired on the black markets, but the numbers we saw employed, and the quantities of ammunition utilized, suggest rather materially that both powers were supplying arms directly.”